


Some Pretty Important Stuff

by DomLerrys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomLerrys/pseuds/DomLerrys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean stops avoiding stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Pretty Important Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> For my sis.

And in that moment he decided it was high time he acknowledged some pretty important stuff. He removed his feet from the coffee table and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror without really seeing it. He saw only the freckles on the bridge of his nose, the half-healed cut on his upper lip and the fresh bruise on his cheek. The only sound he could hear was the muffled _drip drip drip_ from somewhere in the wall to his left. The yellow light from above the mirror casted warm shadows in the narrow room.

The scrubbing sound of the toothbrush against his lower right molar was almost tickling and while the taste of toothpaste was spreading in his mouth his thoughts were running. He was feeling stunned and a little lost, to be honest. He could not form a single complete thought, yet he somehow knew his mind was racing like he was being chased by a particularly vicious Hellhound. There was no Hellhound there, though, nor anything else if not him, his spinning mind and something that was not quite a revelation but something he happened to have known for a long time. Like, you have always known that salt comes from the sea, but then you realise it and you realise at the same time that you never really paid attention to the actual process, so you knew it but you did not actually realise it until you thought about it for some reason. And that was his situation: more than feigned ignorance it had been… lack of attention. It had always been there but he could not just come to pay the right attention to notice the whole thing. Had he pointedly dismissed everything, setting aside every single clue for a better day? What the hell, it was better to admit that rather than think he missed the shitload of recent crap. After all, he was a hunter; a hell of a hunter, at that. For someone like him, whose job was basically putting together supernatural pieces and gank the outcome, that was downright an insult. They were fucking pro, no shit. So perhaps at the end of the day it was best to blame his own fucked-up mind and to hell with it.

Back to the matter at hand. He came round with a start to discover he drooled some toothpaste while lost in thought. It was already encrusted on his once clean t-shirt. Oh, fuck. He gargled a little while cursing, succeeding in sputtering some more toothpaste onto his t-shirt. He closed the tap and cursed some more for good measure. Freeing himself from the dirty clothes he threw himself on the all too soft mattress of his bed, sinking in it with a resigned sigh. There was no petty thing able to divert his attention: once he had set his mind on a matter, few things were able to distract him. Even fewer with such a freakishly big-ass question.

He did not want to admit it, but the whole thing was a tiny bit scary. He tried everything in the book, but no belittling strategy had had success. He stared forlornly at the ceiling, as if it contained all the answers he needed. The ceiling looked back at him, dull and anonymous as most of his colleagues.

– Sammy, please, come back and say something stupid. I’m going nuts here! – he whined under his breath. Stupid bothers who spent too much time locked up in stupid libraries doing stupid researches. It was already pretty late, though, so he was probably going to be back soon.

But even ‘soon’ meant way too much time in a dude’s hands, especially when said dude was happily treading the guilt trip all the way down to something as ginormous as potentially devastating.

He shifted in the bed’s smelly sheets while chuckling sadly. He be damned if it wasn’t about time to act upon his instinct. Which had been screaming the same fucking thing for quite some time now. For an impulsive person like him, such behaviour was about as unusual as, I dunno, crying in front of a soap opera would be for that lameass Cas.

Castiel. Oh, we already there? No, because you know, it’s really too easy, if that’s the case. While wondering how is that even possible to fret about a situation concerning a person without thinking a single thought about that person, he started thinking about said person.

And all of a sudden, shit began to come down. In buckets. There was the problem (no, not in the buckets of shit). Castiel. Guilt trip road, godzillionth stop. Please watch you step.

Cas. Idiotic, loyal to a fault, amazing Cas. His favourite Heaven abomination. One of the worst let-downs in his life and, at the same time, his pride and joy. The angel with way too much heart. The freako with a bad case of stick up the ass. Sassiness made flesh. Oh boy, he could go on for eons like this. His Cas.

His Cas. Wow. Was really that the destination of that road? Because, woah, it was quite the destination. No, seriously, it didn’t make any sense. He was also sure that it was quite on the forbidden side. But again, had he ever given a single fuck about permission? It was not even something about the sex. Come on, he may be still go bamfing around a little, but he got over that part some time ago. It’s not as if he held no more interest in the pussy, mind you, but… Cas held no pussy either. It was not something he could negotiate on. That may have been the main reason why he did not get laid in forever. Maybe. Maybe yes. Probably yes. Whatever.

So, if it was not about the sex (and consequently about his sexuality but that was still a mine field so don’t even think of going there thank you), what was it about? The fear that it was unrequited? No, let’s face it: deep down, his honed instinct told him that’s not even remotely the case.

And it’s kind of strange when you take something for sure for years, and you’ve built a fucking fort out of it with goddamn walls and shit and then it crumbles in pieces tiny as breadcrumbs just because you brushed against it. Correction: it’s not strange, it’s utterly frustrating. Because you can’t behave anymore like if your beloved failure of a fort was still there, magnificent and glorious in all his wonkiness, you just can’t.

In this kind of reasoning it is nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact moment in which you know you have lost. You just know it, and you can fight it for days on end, but eventually you will crumple, defeated and beaten. You know.

Dean Winchester has enough troubles as it is to be a wussy about the whole matter. And he cannot go on like this. Denial for self-preservation is one thing, but deluding himself that there will be a better time in his life to face this, with the likely perspective of keeping his head in the sand for a very long time to come… no, that is not an option.

He stood up and reached for a clean t-shirt in his duffel bag. He needed to end this all, and end it quick. He stalked off into the bathroom and washed his face. Yes, it was really time to man up and face it all.

His mind formed the call even before he was actually _ready_ to make it, and when he passed the door back to the bedroom there he was his angel, sporting his trademark aggravated frown.

– Dean.

Oh, what the fuck? Seriously? Two seconds in, and he was already a pool of goo and halfway to an undignified retreat. With almost no resolution left, he stared into the other man’s inquisitive eyes and found the usual. The usual dedication, the usual honesty, the usual eagerness to make this world better for him.

His legs went wobbly. He could not stand properly. How on Earth could have he thought he deserved that much? A good-for-nothing reject like him. That was fucking hilarious, I tell you. No way on Earth, in Heaven or in Hell. He was kidding himself if he thought that a poor scumbag like him could aspire to something that pure and that wise and that ancient. Hey, even counting all the mistakes Cas could have made, it still was incomparable to the utter mess that Dean was. Really, what was him if not a bag full of whims and unheeded issues? And he wanted to… to have that kind of relationship with something divine. That was pure madness. He was highly delusional. No room for the silly desires of a lost boy. Oh, God, was he still the whiny child that couldn’t even look after his baby brother while his father was out of that motel door facing the worst spawn of Hell? Was he still trapped in those long days and longer nights?

The ride on freak-out lane went on at breakneck speed. He could not even focus on the growing concern on Castiel’s features. He could not utter a word, the lump in his throat more suffocating as seconds ticked by.

He would have probably ended up having a major breakdown if Castiel had not seen that moment fit to intervene.

– Dean, tell me what is wrong.

Dean stared at him like a deer stares at the headlights. Cas had not moved a finger, but it felt like he had gently cupped his cheek and stoked his head until the hyperventilation had somehow calmed down a bit. He revelled in that phantom touch. Indeed, his head had stopped spinning like mad and the strong nausea had downgraded to something acceptable. Far from being peachy, he was at least able to reason once again. Such was the power that his angel held on him.

Once having prevented a horrible death by asphyxia or such, he let out a shaky sigh and looked deep and hard in Castiel’s impossible blue eyes, trying to find something he could not quite put a finger on. An opening, some kind of permission? Castiel stood there solid and present, waiting, unfaltering. Forever there.

– Do you… do you think it would be possible?

Dean’s voice was hoarse, just a whisper.

Castiel’s eyes shone brighter, but he stayed silent. Dean cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

– Do you think it would work?

He spoke with some more conviction, his tone still dripping uncertainty. Castiel lifted his eyebrows, unreadable even to the trained stare of the hunter.

– Do… do you want it?

Despite his herculean efforts, this last question was barely audible and came out like a plea more than anything. His eyes bore into Castiel’s, all expectancy and hope and trepidation.

The air was still and heavy. The time had stopped flowing.

Castiel lifted his chin as he weighed the words one by one.

– I do, Dean. Now I do. Do you?

Dean’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly ajar. He could not register the words he had just heard, he did not have the presence of mind to question their meaning. They stood there floating, the distant dripping noise shaking the air like a cannon. To Dean’s blocked mind it felt like damned hours.

The time finally clicked back on its track when they heard the sound of the mechanism of the door lock click open. Sam was back. Dean turned his head towards the entrance door with an apprehensive and somehow annoyed look drawn on his eyebrows. Not now, dammit, not again! Not now!

Cas locked his glance with Dean’s, and in a touch as light as a whisper they where in a different motel room. There was no sign of Sammy anywhere and everything was covered in dust. The sun entered in splashes from the boarded windows, caught in golden speckles around his hands. Warm blades of light caressed the folds of Cas’ trench coat. The silence was stuck in his throat and wouldn’t let him breathe.

Dean refocused on Castiel’s eyes, beautiful and unchangeable and so intense that they made him dizzy. They were almost preternatural in the sun. Castiel’s figure was like a marble statue, his slightly heaving chest the only thing moving. Dean’s heart was a drum in his own ears.

– Ah, uhm, all right… I, err… what…

– Dean, do you?

Cas interrupted his babbling nonsense with an urgency foreign to the usually poised demeanour. The sun slided away from the trench coat as he leaned over.

Dean’s lips visibly twitched searching for words. Did he want that? He realised that that was the point of no return. No more beating about the bush, no more backing away. And was he ready for such a thing?

No, no chick-flick moments now, for as much as some good old sappiness was sometimes required in TV dramas, his life ain’t one of them. He regarded his guts as a highly functioning and nearly infallible apparatus, so why don’t rely on them this time too?

– Yeah – he breathed, – I think so.

Castiel’s brow furred for the quickest moment before his whole posture completely changed. It may have been difficult to appreciate for the average man but Dean was hardly the average man. He totally relaxed. Well, “totally” in Cas’ range of display of emotion, that was it. And then he smiled a smile Dean had never seen before. He probably smiled back, but he was not so sure of his movements.

And then, without previous warning, he could see it, and it was beautiful. He knew what it was without any doubt. It was as if poor Jimmy’s features were emanating light; his face, his hands, even his clothes were made of the purest light. He could barely make out the contours of his face.

The crumpled motel room had lost its walls and it seemed like everything had no boundaries at all. Behind Cas’ vessel’s form two cascades of absolute white blocked out everything else, outmatching even the sun. Still in a daze, he tentatively took a step forward towards the warm overwhelming light. If he had had full control of his thoughts he would have probably wondered how that light did not hurt his eyes in the slightest or some logic stuff like that, but the current situation was just a bit too much to think straight. And in that moment, Castiel started to talk.

More than talking as in speaking words, it was a soft humming, high-pitched and sweet. It was the sweetest lullaby, as sad and melancholic as time itself.

Dean took a second step, and then another. He was now completely engulfed by the cascades of light that pressed around his own figure. He was feeling everything, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in what it must have been the dumbest smile ever. He let the blinding light embrace him, soft and warm and icy and damn _present_ , tangible, even if the contours were elusive. They looked like the flickering air above a candle.

Everything was light. It was hot white, bright, like a camera flash, of the kind that leaves a red burning afterimage.

Everything was failing. Time was null, space was null. Dean himself was null.

Everything was falling. Barriers, restraints, doubts. Everything was cracking up and tumbling in sparkles, reality itself.

Everything was feeling. Castiel’s voice was a rumble in the pit of whatever was left of Dean’s body, a pounding in the heart, a concert of ablaze rolling sounds that made him _feel_. He felt the hope, he felt the guilt, he felt the undying love. And he did not know if those raw emotions were his own or Cas’, but he felt like he was _dying_ in them. They consumed him.

The lulling melody started to make sense in a way he won’t ever be able to explain: Cas’ was pouring all his heart into those words and they were above the limits of human language and, oh God, they were for him.

They stayed there forever, two bodies embraced, a soul and a grace intertwined, and nothing else was.


End file.
